Six years ago... just yesterday.

Six years ago, things suddenly started to fall out of place on what was otherwise a routine boring day of homeworks,tuition and misery.
date: 27th feb,2002. time: 8.30pm.
place: Chandkheda,Ahmedabad,(Gujarat)
I was returning from my maths tuition,(I used to learn from an aunty in my colony) lost in thoughts about how to dethrone the class topper,Monika Tanwar and wondering if i was destined to remain in the 2nd place forever in school! The flickering yellow colony street lamps blinked repeatedly upon me as if echoing the uncertainty in my psyche. I had almost reached home(rather duplex,dingy quarters)...when i suddenly stopped in my tracks.The kind and loving Dhiren bhaiya,our neighbour was sitting on the stairs with a friend of his.On seeing me he quickly tucked the thing inside his belt and pulled over his shirt and beamed his trademark 'half open' smile.I didnt return it.There could not be a mistake, i had caught the metal's shine.It was a 8-9 inch long small sword. "kahan? tuition se?" he asked.I looked at him straight and asked point blank," why are you carrying that bhaiya?i saw it".Keeping a firm hand on my shoulder he said in a low tone that was so grave that i almost choked,"Go home,it seems you dont know...see the news,you wont ask silly questions then".The nice,fun loving 22year old cool gujarati guy,who kept on bowling tirelessly,while we kids exploited his generousity by batting all the time,every evening.... had suddenly changed.Shocked, i ran upstairs to my quarter and flicked on the T.V while yelling,"Ma khobore ki daekhacche?"(Mom,whats on news?)....
Do you need to be told further?..... the whole country knew .... Gujarat, d almost crimeless,peaceful, safe state of Gujarat was no more so.... at least for coming 6 months.

Stopping by the grass on a sunday morning

Scribbled this while chewing my pen cap over a maths assignment,was my first attempt this semester to 'try' do an assignment myself (i knew i would copy it later anyway). The dire state of the cap was analogous to my brain's state within, and i wondered how nice it would have been were the pen cap to be a releiving roll of smoking grass! suddenly an urge overcame me to tease dear Mr.frost. (P.S have never tried grass,smack,hashish,ganja!... but we can all guess what it's like). That was yesterday morning,sunday 24th feb,2008. here goes...





Stopping by the grass on a sunday morning.




Which books these are i think i know.

their place is not on my table, though;

no one saw me ever near

the library or the campus book store.

My dear friends must think it queer

" He only smiles and never fears!

between the C and frozen F

his grades remain year after year. "



They stop me,give me a nasty shake,

to ask if i am a big mistake!

The only other sound's the sweep

of the yelling prof. ... my life's at stake.


The books are lovely white n black,

But i want my shots of grass or smack,

And miles i fly reeling forth n back,

and miles i fly reeling forth n back.

ladies n gentlemen, " Stopping by the 'grass' on a sunday morning"... by Supro Antifreeze.
(No offence meant to dear Mr.Frost, i remain his fan forever). As a tribute and for reader's to compare and enjoy, am also posting the original poem. Its one of my favourites.

Stopping by the woods on a snowy evening

Whose woods these are I think I know.

His house is in the village, though;

He will not see me stopping here

To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer

To stop without a farmhouse near

Between the woods and frozen lake

The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake

To ask if there's some mistake.

The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.


The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.




-Robert Frost

I ASK THEE...

Wrote this poem in my college event,Pendemonium 2008. This one got placed third.

I Ask Thee…

Another son…
Another child of yours
Went to sleep tonight
Never again he rose,
A warm bullet filling his weary heart
In a foreign land from a foreign hand
His breath had come to close.

The man atop the white house though
Another child of yours…(I suppose so!)
Has the right to mount death after death
The reason he can give at best,
You kill them or they kill you next!
And so his soldiers to hell they throng
It’s not their’s to question right or wrong!
To the motherland their souls belong.

One day when these sons of your’s
Come and knock at your doors
With pleading eyes and open arms
When they fall to their knees
And cry, I ASK THEE!
What will you utter then?

What will you say ask when they
What ends did my death make meet?
How many more of my brothers will too,
Breathe their last without a name?
I ask thee, why this game?
Where I play to live,
And the king lives to play?

I ask thee! Why today I feel,
For what did we so sweat and bleed?
To make our children live happy and free?
To make my home safe, in peace?
Or…Just to tame the Devil’s greed?

-Supro.